


Chrome

by LostCauses (Anteros)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clubbing, F/F, Fashion Disasters, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Those Leggings, eruri - Freeform, that suit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:04:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10053434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anteros/pseuds/LostCauses
Summary: In which Levi lives to regret criticising his flatmate's fashion sense, but he is far from the most flamboyantly dressed person in the club that night...





	

**Author's Note:**

> A short fic inspired by Levi's [fabulous silver leggings](http://lostcauses-noregrets.tumblr.com/post/157643467685/i-dont-know-if-anyone-has-mentioned-this).

“You’re not going out wearing that!” 

Levi gapes at his flatmate aghast.

“Wearing what?” Petra’s looks down at herself, nose scrunching into a little frown. 

“That!” Levi waves his hand vaguely in his friend’s direction.

“You mean these?” Petra peers at her shiny silver leggings, frown turning into something a bit more apprehensive. “Why? Do they make my ass look big?” She cranes her head over her shoulder in an unsuccessful attempt to see her petite bottom. 

“What the fuck? You’ve barely got an ass!” 

“What’s wrong then?”

“Looks like something a twelve year old girl would wear.” 

“No it doesn’t!” Petra huffs. “I’ll have you know this jacket came from a chi chi little boutique in the West End and the leggings are from a really cool Japanese outlet online.” 

“I don’t care where they’re from,” Levi snorts dismissively, “I’m not going out with you looking like that.” 

“And who made you the fashion police all of a sudden?” Petra pouts, sticking her chin out defiantly. 

“Just saying…”

“Just jealous more like.” Petra sniffs haughtily.

“What the hell would I be jealous off?”

“My lovely new leggings!” 

“Fuck off. I wouldn’t be seen dead in that fashion disaster.” Levi replies, clearly horrified.

“Ooh get you Mr Style Icon.” Petra cast a sarcastic eye over Levi’s black jeans and equally black t-shirt. “You know Levi, for a gay man your wardrobe is awfully straight.”

“Fuck you.” 

“Y’know, I can kinda see you in these.” 

Petra sidles up to Levi and waggles one shiny leg in front of him. 

“Fuck off.”

“You’re no fun. Anyway, I don’t care what you think, I think I look hot.”

“Mutton dressed as lamb more like,” Levi mutters under his breath as Petra turns away to pick up her bag. 

“I heard that Levi Ackerman!” Petra whirls around and prods Levi hard in the chest. “Right, if you’re so convinced that this is such a fashion faux pas why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”

“What the hell are you talking about Pet?”

“If I can pull wearing my fabulous new leggings tonight, you have to wear them to the club next weekend.” 

“No fucking way.” 

“Don’t worry honey,” Petra smiles sweetly, patting Levi on the cheek “I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about if I look like _mutton_.”

The clubs is as busy and noisy as might be expected for a gay club on a Friday night and Levi can feel a headache starting as soon as he steps into the dark, strobe lit interior. He makes one circuit of the dance floor with Petra before retreating to a quieter area at the back of the bar. He’s promised his friend he’ll stay for one drink at least. By the time he’s finished his drink, Petra has already disappeared into the crowd with a tall person wearing glasses, a wild smile and messy hair tied up in a pony tail. Levi pulls out his phone, shoots her a short text message telling her he’s leaving and to call a cab to get home, then he makes his way out of the club, sighing with relief as he exits the hot noisy club into the cool night air.

Levi wakens late the next morning; he doesn’t work on Saturdays so there’s no hurry to get up, though his desperate need for tea forces him out of bed just after nine. The flat is quiet and peaceful, perfect for a relaxing Saturday morning. Levi is on his second cup of tea when he realizes that the flat is altogether too quiet and that he has no recollection of hearing Petra coming home the night before. He hastily reaches for his phone and, sure enough, there are three messages from Petra sent at four in the morning. The first is a blurry selfie of Petra and the messy haired person he’d last seen her with at the club. The second reads _going home with Hanji, going to make cocktails & toast & cheese. don’t wait up!_ The third message, sent a few minutes later simply says _i win ur turn next wk_. It takes Levi a moment to figure out what it means but when he does, his stomach drops. Fuck. Petra pulled. He’s lost the bet. 

It’s Sunday afternoon before Petra stumbles back to the flat, still wearing the silver leggings and the smuggest grin Levi has ever seen in his life. 

“No.” Levi states flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Absolutely fucking not.” 

“A deal’s a deal,” Petra chirrups before collapsing onto the couch and demanding coffee, blankets and crap tv. 

Levi does not intend to give in without a fight. He dedicates every spare moment of the week thinking up any excuse that will allow him to wriggle out of the bet with his dignity intact. 

“I’m skint. I can’t afford to go out this weekend.” He tries on Monday evening. 

“No problem”, Petra smiles sweetly, “I’ve just been paid.”

On Tuesday morning he tries coughing unconvincingly. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go out on Friday, I’m coming down with a cold.” 

“No you’re not,” Petra snips without even looking up from her cereal.

“How the fuck do you know, Nurse Ral?”

“Because,” Petra waves her spoon at him, “on the vanishingly rare occasions you do actually get ill, you always deny it. Honestly Levi you one of these guys who’d stand there with their arm hanging off claiming it’s only a scratch.” 

She does have a point. 

“There’s no way I’ll get into your stupid fucking leggings,” Levi protests on Wednesday, “they’re way too small.” 

“Nuh uh.” Petra sticks her head out of the bathroom where she’s dying her hair. “These leggings are made of the stretchiest fabric known to mankind, I’m sure you’ll manage to squeeze your ass into them sweetie.”

“It’s not my ass I’m worried about…” Levi mutters darkly. 

“But what if I rip them?” He pleads on Thursday, desperation giving way to despair. 

“Rip them? Hoping so see some action are you?” Petra smirks. God dammit she can be annoying sometimes. “Well if they come down in a blaze of glory so be it. They helped me pull, maybe they’ll work the same magic for you!” She reaches across the couch where they’re sitting and ruffles Levi’s hair. Levi wishes for death.

By the end of the week Petra’s almost supernatural ability to get her own way wins out and Levi regretfully concludes that he will either have to move out and find a new flat, possibly even adopt a new identity, or suck it up, and wear the fucking leggings. 

Saturday comes around with swift and awful inevitability and finds Levi standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom, gazing at his reflection with abject horror. After several false starts he has regretfully concluded that the only way he is going to be able to wear Petra’s hideous leggings is if he goes commando. That still doesn’t make getting into them any easier. Petra has offered to help of course but he refuses to let her into the bedroom on the grounds that he is half naked and she refuses to stop laughing. 

“Oh come on Levi,” she had pleads from the other side of the door, “don’t be a baby, there’s no need to be shy. You know I’m not remotely interested in dick, yours or anyone else’s!” 

It takes a great deal of undignified manoeuvring to worm his way into the leggings but once they’re on, Levi can’t help admitting that they feel rather nice. The fabric is fine and stretchy and the metallic surface feels smooth and cool to the touch. However it’s when he turns round and looks in the mirror that the full horror of the situation really hits him. The leggings hug every curve and cleft of his nether regions, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. In fact the silver sheen actually seems to accentuate his assets, highlighting the outline of his dick, the cheeks of his ass. 

“Fuck.” He groans, burying his face in his hands. 

“Leeeeevi!” Petra pleads, between fits of giggles, from the other side of the door, “come on, we’ll be late, you can’t stay in there all night.” 

Shaking his head, Levi grabs the longest shirt he can find from his closet then, taking a deep breath, he opens the door. 

“Oh my god! Petra squeals, eyes round as saucers. “Oh. My. God!” 

“Right, fuck this,” Levi snaps retreating back into his room and attempting to slam the door. 

Petra is too quick for him though. 

“Uh uh, no you don’t.” She catches him by the arm and drags him back out into the hallway with surprising strength for one so small. “No, no, no. We made a deal.” She wags her finger sternly at Levi. “Right now, stand there.” 

She plants Levi firmly on the spot and walks around him to admire the view. By the time she’s facing him again her gleeful grin has been replaced by a small pout. 

“Damn, Levi, unfair.” 

“ _You’re_ telling _me_ this is unfair?”

“No, it’s not fair, these leggings look better on you than they do on me. How the hell do you do that?” 

“I look like a fucking oven ready chicken,” Levi mutters. 

“Oh don’t be such a drama queen. It’s a gay club, silver leggings are practically dress down for a Saturday night. Come on, time to go. I told Hanji I’d meet her at the club just after eleven.” She tosses the black satin jacket at Levi and, ignoring any further protests, ushers him out the door. 

Petra is right of course, amongst the lycra and sequins and booty shorts, Levi’s silver leggings are far from the most flamboyant thing on the dancefloor. In fact the only person in the club who sticks out like a sore thumb is a tall blond guy propping up the bar who’s wearing an electric blue suit, complete with white shirt and red tie. I mean, who the fuck wears a suit and tie to a gay club on a Saturday night? 

Levi doesn’t have time to check out the conspicuous blond before Petra is dragging him onto the dance floor. The DJ is on top form tonight, mixing up the usual high-energy trash with something a bit heavier, a bit more bassy. It really hits the spot. As Levi looses himself in the music and the euphoria he can’t help noticing that the silver leggings allow a certain _freedom of movement_ and he’d be lying if he didn’t notice the admiring glances cast his way as the lights shine of the skin tight silver fabric. 

By the time Levi fights his way off the dancefloor almost an hour later he’s dripping with sweat and gasping for a drink. He makes his way over to the bar and is shouldering his way through the throng when he hears a voice at his ear.

“You look hot.” 

Levi turns around to give the stranger his best death glare and finds himself looking up at the blond in the blue suit. The very tall, very gorgeous blond in the blue suit. 

“Subtle,” he drawls sarcastically. 

Not remotely daunted by Levi’s fuck off attitude the man throws his head back and laughs. 

“No, I meant hot as in you look like you need to cool down, though now you come to mention it…” He grins and there’s something wolfish there that intrigues Levi. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Levi sweeps a swift appraising eye over the man. Talking of hot…

“Sure,” he shrugs. “Just water.” 

Levi retreats to a relatively quiet corner away from the bar and the man returns shortly afterwards with carrying a gin and tonic and a bottle of water. Levi gulps down the cold water gratefully. He can feel the man’s eyes on his throat as he swallows and when some of the water trickles out of the corner of his mouth to pool in the hollow of his throat, he doesn’t wipe it away. 

“I’m Erwin,” the man says, as Levi lowers the bottle from his mouth. His eyes follow the trail of water sliding down Levi’s throat.

“Erwin…” Levi draws the name out over his tongue. “So what’s your story?” He nods in the direction of the man’s suit, one brow raised in query. 

“Excuse me?” The man looks confused for a moment. “Oh! You mean this? The suit? I was at a work colleague’s wedding. The maid of honour was trying to pair me off with the best man, some lanky guy with a ratty little moustache, so I thought it was time to make my excuses.” 

“Not your type huh?” 

“No,” Erwin replies, and there’s that predatory glint in his eye again, “not my type.” 

Levi lifts the bottle to his lips again, drinking slowly. Erwin’s eyes never leave his face. 

“I like your leggings,” Erwin comments as Levi caps the bottle and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. 

“Are you taking the piss?”

“No not at all. Chrome is very next season.” 

“Chrome…what?” Levi stutters. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Chrome accents,” Erwin explains as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “They’re going to be everywhere come spring. You’re way ahead of the curve.”

Levi eyes the man flatly. 

“And you know this how? What are you, some kind of stylist, or designer or shit?” 

“Me? God no,” Erwin laughs, “but I do work for a publishing company that has a lot of fashion and lifestyle titles in its portfolio. You just pick up on this kind of stuff. Apparently chrome is the next big thing.”

“Chrome huh?” Levi deadpans “Not sure it’s really my colour.” 

“Oh I don’t know. It accentuates…” Erwin pauses, letting his gaze track slowly down over Levi’s body and back up to his face, “the colour of your eyes.”

Levi snorts, but really, he was just thinking exactly the same thing. The man, _Erwin_ , has the most impossibly blue eyes he has ever seen, which are only highlighted by the electric blue of his pristine suit. It’s a winning combination. 

Now Levi is a man who appreciates good grooming. To say that rough trade is not his thing would be the understatement of the century, however there is something about that immaculate blue suit, the neat side swept hair, the man’s clean fresh cologne, that brings out a primal urge in Levi to see the handsome blonde completely wrecked and ruined. The thought sends a bolt of heat straight to his groin, making him fidget uncomfortably. 

Blondie, of course, notices. 

“Are you all right there?”

“These things are fucking strangling me,” Levi mutters, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks. 

“They are rather,” Erwin coughs politely, “form fitting.” 

“Form fitting?” Levi can’t help choking back a laugh. “You have no fucking idea.  
I nearly did myself an injury trying to get into them. Fuck knows how I’m going to get them off.”

“Well if you need a hand, I’d be very happy to oblige,” Erwin replies without missing a beat. 

“Fuck. You’re really not subtle are you?” 

Erwin leans in, and when he speaks again, Levi can feel his breath hot against his cheek.

“Says the grown man in the silver leggings and the satin jacket. Shall we go?” 

Levi answers by fisting his hand in the red tie and dragging the man down for a long bruising kiss. 

They’re already half way to the door of the club when Levi stops. 

“Hang on, I need to text my flatmate.” 

He pulls his phone from the pocket of Petra’s satin jacket.

_I’m off Pet, see you tomorrow_

_Going home already?_ Petra texts back immediately.

_Maybe. Maybe not._

_“omg! u pulled? did you pull? did my leggings work their magic again?_

_Fuck off._

Levi snorts out a laugh. 

“Something funny?” Erwin asks.

“No, just my stupid flatmate. Come on lets go.” 

Before shoving his phone back in his pocket and following Erwin out the door, Levi shoots off one last text. 

_PS I’m keeping your leggings._


End file.
